


the scintilla bloomed (now see them burn in fire)

by postscripts



Category: TOMORROW X TOGETHER | TXT (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Choi Beomgyu Is Bad At Feelings, Choi Beomgyu-Centric, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Internalized Homophobia, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Soft Choi Soobin, only light implications of the tendency but i'll still put it here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-16 07:08:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28952433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postscripts/pseuds/postscripts
Summary: beomgyu recognizes this kind of desire, this fluorescent yearning, and the final puzzle clicks only to have him crumble.beomgyu wants.he can't, though. so he doesn't.
Relationships: Choi Beomgyu/Choi Soobin
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	the scintilla bloomed (now see them burn in fire)

**Author's Note:**

> the title is a reference to txt's can't you see me with slight modification.  
> also, unbetaed we die like men.

(the world ends like this.)

it's probably past midnight and something feels off. the room is overcast with bleak warm yellow, reminding him of the church he used to go to back in daegu, and he can hear the clock ticking in a faint heartbeat rhythm. beomgyu wakes up to his head laid on top of someone's cross-legged thigh and there's an uncomfortable film on his eyes. for a split disoriented moment, he stares at the room vacantly without thinking of anything. it's cold, and he mindlessly stretches his arm to reach for something—a blanket or his jacket, anything to cover his trembling legs—but as his gripping hand can't quite catch anything, he moves his head up to see that he's nowhere in his bed. he blinks a few time, taking his time to adjust to the dim of the room but a hand comes sudden on his head and pats him softly.

"go back to sleep, beomgyu-yah."

the voice is gentle. it's odd. he's hazily awake, looking up to see soobin's the one to have his thigh settled on. soobin looks down to meet his puzzled gaze. beomgyu doesn't remember much, but he senses the dried tears have something to do with it. a fire lights up in his stomach and snippets of memory come back the moment he can feel himself still in the gray hoodie he wears on occasion familiarity is something he needs. he dully recalls that he has been crying because of a project last night, remembers going somewhere—anywhere, to drink in an attempt to forget.

but he doesn't remember why he's here, all puffy-eyed and wobbly legs above soobin's firmer ones.

perhaps it's a dream. it isn't the first time he visions soobin in his sleep, though not quite as real as this. there are too many questions and none that seem to matter more than the fact his eyelids are heavy and thinking sort of aches. thus, he eases back down and closes his eyes. _the night is long_ , he feels.

there's something off, but the stroke on his head is too gentle—like encouraging him to go back to sleep. it makes his stomach smolder, but comfort hasn't been his forte since the beginning, hasn't been for a long time, so he welcomes it. his feet are cold but it's warmer than any other nights (more secure than he has felt any other nights).

he snuggles closer, croaks a small _m’kay_ , and drifts away.

just this once, beomgyu forgives for letting himself go and falls back to slumber, accepting the invitation to drown with the growing pit of fire on his stomach. 

when he wakes up for the second time does he realize he's not in his apartment. he's on someone's bed and the said someone holds him by the shoulder as if to make sure he can not run away in the most tender manner it allows. it takes a full minute before he can recognize who the person is. soobin's asleep, in a way it feels too much of an intrude to wake him up. 

like that, he lays there, one by one the puzzles fall into place and his memories show up gradually. the night before, he had called _choi soobin_ , out of everyone on his contact. 

he’s sure that when he had woken up last night, he was on the sofa, but this must has been soobin's bed. the light coming in from the window suggests that it's no longer early in the morning. true enough, he looks at his watch—beomgyu's wrist is red by hours it presses against the silver—and it's almost ten. there's a class to attend—though forgot which one—yet he can't be bothered to think about it for the reason he's too disconcerted to leave the bed without waking up the person beside him. 

beomgyu feels out of place, and he can’t help but turns his head towards the the one beside him and just _stares_ _._ soobin looks in peace and he think's the other is pretty like this. his straight eyelashes that direct downward, the way his mouth doesn't close up fully, how the corner of his lips shaped upward, looks at soobin’s messy hair that falls covering half of his eyes—and the blaze dances again in chaotic movements. it feels imposing. he shouldn't be here to witness this because this image of soobin is too intimate for him to swallow. it’s like he's accepting the offer he knows can't take.

he _hates_ the fact that the more he stares the more he doesn’t want to budge. 

there's something appealing about touching soobin’s cheek, perhaps more than what logic can explain, that he almost does it before he stops himself. beomgyu recognizes this too familiar kind of desire, this fluorescent yearning, and the final puzzle _clicks_ only to have him crumble.

beomgyu _wants._

he can't, though. so he doesn't.

beomgyu tries to get out of the other's grasp as quietly as he can, stands up and walks to the door. when he walks out, the shower in the bathroom is running and he curses himself for doing stupid shits again and again. he takes the phone on the coffee table and puts on his sandals quickly. there is no time for this, for the small talk if he’ll meet soobin's roommate _choi yeonjun_ and the incoming awkwardness. this realization has his stomach turned into forest fire even if everything inside's is eaten by wildfire already.

beomgyu gets out and runs.

(beomgyu was 13 when he first knew what it takes for someone to fit in.

age 15 for him to understand why he couldn't ever do it, 16 for him to cry about it hours and hours and _hours_ , and 18 when he saw his classmates walking hand in hand in the heavy crowd of hongdae on christmas eve and thought _his kind of love will never bloom like that._

he tries not to ingratiate it, enrolls in university without thinking about the boy who broke up with him saying _this won't last._ he studies hard, majors in business to make his mother proud no matter how much he doesn’t like it, and not think about his sexuality other than it narrows down the places he can drink and dance and flirt freely without being stared at like it's a crime.

beomgyu doesn't cry anymore. the word doesn't even feel like it's his to own.

he settles with dumb crushes whenever he can to fill the heart-shaped void inside of him. he'll check someone out, drink irresponsibly, and treat those who consent to drinks he knows he can afford. after that, the last steps will vary, but there is absolutely no doubt in his mind that every each one will never go far. this kind of love is temporary, he learns. it's almost second nature, pretending the beat in his chest comes out of concrete. inflammable and therefore can't collapse.)

(it begins with waves.)

soobin calls him a few hours after beomgyu's got home. he wishes to ignore it, but the logical part of his brain that makes up for the other busted half reminds him that _he fucking takes choi yeonjun's phone instead of his own._

it's not his fault their phone model is the same. the phone keeps buzzing and he considers not picking up, but the last thread of his conscience make him press answer regardless. beomgyu sighs, "hello?"

" _hello? gyu-yah?"_ soobin sounds awake. beomgyu glaces at the clock, he supposes that not even soobin would still be asleep at 2 in the afternoon. he sits back down on the couch and let his body relax for the temporary illusion of ease.

"yes, it is i, the ever-popular choi beomgyu."

soobin gives a hearty laugh, " _how annoying,_ " there's no malice in his voice and beomgyu can imagine the dimples forming on soobin's cheeks as he speaks. " _but anyway, you probably know why i call and as much as i know how over the moon you are for holding the phone of the love of your life, he told me to ask you to give it back."_

beomgyu clears his throat, "ah, hyung, but it's my one and only chance," he stares at his sofa cushion blankly, he wants to add _it's not like that anymore_ but his throat is still in knots.

he hears soobin hums, " _yeah, yeah. well i was actually going to say how about you come to the gathering later and give it back to him yourself. good chance for you to talk to yeonjun hyung._ "

"what,” he frowns. he's not in the mood to socialize, especially with club members which he and soobin are in. “i can't do that."

" _what are you talking about._ _yes, you can._ "

beomgyu huffs,"i can't!" it's childish, the reason he doesn't want to come. he doesn't think he can bear the realization of his feeling the second time, so he adds for a good measure, "yeonjun and i aren't even friends." 

" _since when does that stop you? you usually jumps at every chance to flirt with him"_ soobin sounds confused. " _i mean—sorry if i sound pushy but,"_ there's a sound of inhale, _"i_ _just want to help you out."_

the voice on the phone sounds meek and beomgyu’s heart relents a little.

" _okay_ , okay. just _—_ don't you have nuggets to burn? why are you so nosy."

 _"excuse me. that was one time,"_ soobin grumbles. the silence that follows indicates an expectation for beomgyu to reply back. but he doesn't, he's not sure what to say. soobin speaks again. _"is that an okay that you'll come?"_

he doesn't answer for a second. he knows soobin won't force him, knows the other is always filled with good intention. it's not supposed to be directed to someone like him, wretched and reeks of fire fume. beomgyu plays with his fingers and speaks slowly, "yes."

_"yes?"_

"yes, i'll come!"

" _okay good. i'll text you the address. you don’t have to though—if you don't want to. you know i care about you.”_

he thinks he might cry if he hears more.

”i will, no worries.”

_”beomgyu-yah—“_

”bye hyung!”

he doesn't end up coming. when kai gets home, beomgyu tells him that he is sick and asks him to return yeonjun's phone and take beomgyu's from him with the exchange of treating kai for lunch for two weeks.

the moment kai closes the door and leaves, he falls back to his bed and rolls himself in thick blanket. there are too many noises in his head. he supposes this is his fault for being too careless and weak.

(this time, it ought to be choi yeonjun. an enigma, knows everyone and loved by everyone.

beomgyu could feel his chest thumping dangerously quick with all the blinding sparkle around yeonjun. it felt like a game, the one he couldn't compete in but tried anyway. he tried to get yeonjun's attention by going to the store the boy worked at, buying an overpriced vanilla frappuccino in large, every day in hope that yeonjun remembered his face and his order like clockwork. and it worked; his heart would soar as if his ribs wouldn't be able to contain the flowers in his chest every time yeonjun's eyes showed recognition and he didn't ask for his name anymore. 

it's an automatic level up, the fun it entailed. beomgyu's good at games so it felt quite like finding the final boss, to score a date with _the_ yeonjun, dance prodigy no one couldn't help but fall in love with.

the plan was supposed to be like that. it's a perfect script for a story-driven game.

except that in this life, beomgyu is not a protagonist of a game. he forgets that he only has one heart and any fatal blow will cause the game to stop. he forgets he can't ever save the world, can't fight the final boss, can't resummon his energy in seconds, forgets he can't stand up straight without feeling his shadow hugging him like best friends would.

he forgets that the art of forgetting isn't synonymous with pretending otherwise.)

beomgyu comes to campus and go back home by bus. there aren't many students who come from seocho-gu on this route, yet the city bus is still always crowded and sometimes even sweaty. it's a routine, though, so he enjoys the company of the anonymity all the same. he gives no thought and plays the song that he always listens to on the ride to campus as he sits down on the left corner of the space. he hasn't been doing good academically, there's an infallible fortress that keeps him on the bed most days. his lecturer doesn't care, though, so he still needs to do an essay to make up for the classes he has missed in the university library today. thus despite his lack of motivation, he's on his way.

the bus rocks left and right, and he thinks he can fall asleep like this, with quiet buzzes and murmurs as a blanket to the vocalist's soft tune on his ears. there's still thirty minutes before it arrives at the station, no need to rush.

"gyu?"

he peeks through the small of his left eye and notices soobin standing close. his heart beats a second too fast.

"hyung!"

what are the odds, really. his stomach drops when he sees the other peering at him, holding the pole near him. soobin looks—good. like he's fresh out of the shower, black hair not fully dried sticking on the forehead.

"didn't know you have class today. group project?" soobin hums.

he gives his best cheeky grin, "not really. why? are you obsessed with me? are you going to stalk me? oh, no, are _you_ a stalker?"

"i'll hit you," soobin returns a small grin. he takes a seat next to beomgyu, unnervingly, and it's too close. beomgyu might burn up again. "school work? must be tough to do business."

beomgyu shakes his head, "no. i'm smart." soobin smiles wider. he thinks it might be out of fondness, but it's his head talking. "i need to study. kai has been playing senorita really loudly these days. i need a safe house, i think i'm going crazy"

"ah. then, do you want to go to the cafe? it's usually quiet there at this time. i'll treat you something."

he wants to say no, feels bad about the lying ordeal and says _hyung, i'll get distracted with you there._ he's all ashes by now, though, so instead his words are all chopped out, "uh, can't. i mean. i'll get distracted there."

"because of yeonjun hyung?"

_no._

"yes, him." 

soobin nods, "he does look rather distracting sometimes." he agrees. beomgyu almost blurts out _don't say that._ "still, the offer stands, though. i'll buy you the special drink this season! i want to, ah, apologize."

he didn't ask what is it for, but he gets what older means even though it couldn't be more wrong. beomgyu doesn’t spare himself a second to feel guilty or awkward, too busy feeling like he might throw up from the grazes their knees exchange. he shifts somewhat inches away, and says in a make-believe buoyant tone, "well, if you insist. i guess i'm just irresistible like that."

instead of, _no, hyung. i think my lungs are burning and staying with you can eat me whole in flame. i don't want the apocalypse to come, yet._ he lifts up his face to see soobin looking somewhere else indifferently as if it's the most natural thing to do, to invite beomgyu with him to work.

"i give up, i'm retracting my offer." his eyebrows furrow as his lips smile, contradicting and— _fond, fond, fond, no, i'm projecting_ — "this stop is mine, let's go."

soobin takes beomgyu's hand and guides him to exit the bus. 

his head is spinning. beomgyu's quiet the whole way to the cafe, can't even make a coherent thought enough as he feels too small for this. it's a five-minute walk, and his hand is sweaty and warm the whole time, as well as his body and chest, but he doesn't let go of soobin's hand.

he can feel some people staring at them, at their hands, and he presses the nail of his thumb at his index finger so it hurts. 

when they arrive, soobin lets go as he goes to the door that writes 'staff only' in english capital letters. the loss is expected, but it suddenly feels like he gains a limb he doesn't know what to do with. beomgyu goes the cashier and looks at what the cafe offers on the table as though he doesn't remember the menu by heart already. he reads and reads and reads.

"large vanilla frappuccino, less ice?"

he looks up and it's yeonjun. "ah. hello."

yeonjun looks mildly surprised and gives an earnest laugh. beomgyu stares dumbly. choi yeonjun has always been pretty, it usually always makes his heart thumps triple time faster. but today he can no longer see the spark. he wonders if the cafe is always this dim.

"hello, beomgyu-ah. no pick up line this time?"

he bites his lips, "um. didn't prepare this time. i got dragged along here by soobin hyung," says beomgyu. "and peppermint mocha frappuccino, please."

"trying something new, i see. do you know that's soobin's least favorite drink here?" he tries not to think about the information as yeonjun puts his order on the cash register. he notices the other doesn't comment on the reason on why he's here with a lack of his usual profound pick up line, of soobin's gravity pulling him in. "i don't either, usually," he replies softly.

yeonjun tells him the price with a fluent smile. beomgyu pays in cash and sits down to the table closest to the register like he usually does. he tries not to think about it, the weight of yeonjun's cold hand when he gives back the change, and starts to type in the essay that's due tomorrow. 

sometimes, he steals a glance, little flicker, and regrets it immediately when he sees the way soobin smiles at yeonjun's stupid joke. it's the first time he pays attention to soobin more than he looks at yeonjun, but it feels weird to learn that he finds the smile in this setting familiar. all these times, he has thought he's only absorbing information of yeonjun's remnants, but the full picture is always there. soobin is in the memory too. he types away, writing nonsense on the paper in a rush before his brain can shut down.

he wishes he doesn't place himself in that seat. beomgyu can practically hear everything, and it's bitter even with the cold sip of sweet coffee he has ordered. it feels like hours and hours and the world is going to end, the way soobin beams with yeonjun's hand placed on soobin's shoulder.

there is always longing in him. and with that, loneliness and jealousy accompany.

beomgyu can't focus. he knows it's the perverse and the wicked inside of him, the one he thought he has learned to bury when it's trying to claw its way out. it's a joke, how he's so wanting and still trying to play pretend like he wants to be in soobin's position. 

_it's too late,_ his ghost tells him. _dooms day has already begun._

he's losing it.

he packs his bag and braves himself to get close to say goodbye to them. his fingers twitch when soobin's nose scrunches slightly as he says goodbye. his nails digs deeper on his palm as he doesn't bother spreading a smile, too busy chanting uncomprehensible _get out and fucking run_ inside to put it on. " i thought we're going to hang out after the store closes."

yeonjun adds, "yeah. but you look a bit pale, beomgyu-ah. are you okay going home alone? i can take you."

beomgyu answers, "i'm still a bit sick. maybe next time, yeonjun-ssi." if this is him a few evening before, he'd say yes without second thoughts. but he can't stop tattooing the lingering image of yeonjun's hand pressing soobin like it's home on his eyelids. 

"you're still sick?—" 

"we switched phones already and you've given me at least 20 pick up lines. i thought i'm at least at the hyung level, no?" yeonjun pouts. 

their words overlap. "yes i think i am." beomgyu inhales. "but i'm okay, really. and i'll call you yeonjun-hyung if that's okay with you."

it ends like that, with yeonjun and soobin both frowning and telling him to wait a bit before their shift end so they can give him a ride in yeonjun's car. he notices less and less as yeonjun's hand is on soobin again, on his waist this time, and he profusely refuses them. he resists the urge to cover his eyes like a child, and when one of the two customers come up to the cashier for some takeaway that soobin has to rush to the register, he bows deep to yeonjun and leaves the cafe. from the corner of his eyes, he's not sure if soobin turns his head to his leaving or it's another flame making up scenarios.

at the time he gets home, he showers like his body is made of rusty metal. he wears his gray hoodie like a second skin and lays down on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

the pitch black helps him feel less exposed. nobody can see him this way, restless and perishable. even if the burst of thought is loud and distinct, or that the sky is falling slowly like a ticking bomb toward his burnt body, it shelters anyone else from witnessing his chaos. he thinks darkness is always his most loyal friend.

he almost falls asleep when his phone rings and lights up in the dark.

when he takes it after some minutes, there's an unknown number sending a message that reads, _hi beomgyu-yah! did you get home safe? this is yeonjun by the way. soobin gave me your number, i hope you don't mind :)_

the world is a game where he is the token comedic relief character. he thinks this is to warn him that he'll die first before anyone else.

(the wave crashes the shore once and the reef cracks.)

**Author's Note:**

> it will take some times, so buckle up.


End file.
